Hate Never Dies
by phantomofcalifornia
Summary: Love Never Dies AU Christine dies of an illness, leaving her drunken husband and lonely illegitimate daughter behind. Knowing he could never take care of her, Raoul decides to give the sixteen year-old girl back to her real father; Erik Y, owner of Phantasma, husband to Meg Giry. Though she is happily taken in, little do they know something else is lurking in Phantasma: Revenge.
1. Welcome to Phantasma

The Coney Island Opera house was packed from the floor orchestra pit to the top boxes, all clamoring and waiting for the soprano's performance. She was the grand finale, the pièce de résistance and Mr. Y's beloved. From behind the curtain she, shook slightly, nervous in more than one way, as the set began to come together. The patrons waited patiently, though one was more anxious for it to be over; Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. With meager change in his pocket and alcohol on his breath, he just wanted it to be over so he could run backstage and let his troubles be eased.

With the melodic strings of the violin the curtain rose. Dressed in a royal blue, glimmering with beads, glowing in the spotlight as an accompanying peacock tail background centered her perfectly, the soprano gulped. The melody would be over soon, the lyrics would take over. Raoul waited anxiously for whatever came next.

She opened her mouth, which was painted beautifully with rogue, but shut it again. The orchestra was forgiving and repeated the part so she could start once more. Annoyed, Raoul began to tap his leg.

"Father please stop."

"In a moment."

Turning her head up nervous, she opened her mouth once more, only for it to fail her again. The orchestra repeated the same notes, but faster, also anxious for her to start. Raoul just wanted everything to be over.

" _Who knows when love begins_

 _Who knows what makes it start_

 _One day it's simply there_

 _Alive inside your heart"_

The melody was gorgeous, no doubt it was his music. One thing that Raoul could give "The Angel of Music" credit for was he was a genius. The singer became hesitant, her eyes distant, but she still went on, rather shakily and slowly, much to Raoul's annoyance.

" _It slips into your thoughts_

 _It infiltrates your soul_

 _It takes you by surprise_

 _Then seizes full control"_

Raoul once again began tapping his foot, he had been waiting long enough. He had to handle things himself now.

"Wait here, I have to go."

"Can't you wait until the end?"

"This is important, meet me outside of the Opera house on the beach, I will go get you."

His child frowned slightly, but still continued to watch. She carried on with the song, straightening her back with confidence.

" _Try to deny it_

 _And try to resist_

 _But love won't let you go_

 _Once you've been possessed"_

With bright eyes and a loving smile she opened her arms.

" _Love never dies_

 _Love never falters_

 _Once it has spoken_

 _Love is yours"_

Raoul went outside the front door, feeling the cold night air encase him, he pulled his coat around him. Shivering, he walked around the Opera house, to the backstage exit. Two large clowns stood at either exit, their crimson face paint signaling danger in the fog. He went to the left door, the clown immediately stopped him.

"I'm afraid you're not allowed here sir-"

"I have to see Mr. Y!" Raoul demanded loudly.

The two clowns giggled as they spun their torsos whilst keeping their legs in place. "No one sees Mr. Y unless he wants to!"

Raoul furrowed his brows, annoyed. "Tell him the Vicomte De Chagny wants to see him."

"Mr. Y has no care for titles or riches-"

"Let him in." a voice whispered from the other side of the door.

The clowns turned to the door, then nodded. They opened the door for him.

" _Love never dies_

 _Once it is in you_

 _Life may be fleeting_

 _Love lives on_

 _Life may be fleeting_

 _Love lives on"_

The curtain fell and the audience stood for their standing ovation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Meg Giry! Queen of Coney, Soprano Supreme and Muse of Mister Y himself!" a voice announced. "Thank you for coming to our annual Fall closing and we will see you next season for mystery, magic and music!"

As the audience left in droves, Raoul made his way backstage. He was guided by a dwarf dressed in an aerialist costume, backstage to the dressing room. Meg ran back, excitedly skipping.

"Oh can't you tell, the new routine? It went so well!" She chirped running past Raoul. "I know that I messed up, but at least I sang it all-" Meg immediately whipped back, pale as if she saw a ghost. "Raoul?!"

He smiled softly. "Meg…"

Madame Giry went beside her. "Vicomte?"

He bowed. "Madame."

Meg ran to him and threw her arms around him. "My God, it's been seventeen years since we last saw you! So much happened since Paris, I mean-"

"I know…" taking a loud sigh, he looked at both of them. "I know he's here, where is he?"

"Looking for someone Vicomte?" a voice behind him called.

The Phantom emerged, not so different as he looked before. A wrinkle maybe, around the eye that showed and his pale cheek. Raoul cringed to think what the other side would look like.

"I knew it would only be a matter of time, though I did ask you forget about me." He confidently strode past Raoul, practically ignoring the space he occupied and went to Meg's side. He firmly held her hand and Meg rested her head on his shoulder. "Fear not… I have moved on. If you come here to accuse me, I warn you, I am now an affluent man and-"

"I know you and Christine had an affair before she and I wed." Raoul stated firmly, turning his gaze down.

Meg turned her head to the masked man. "What?"

He groaned. "I'm sorry, I swear it was before we courted, forgive me Meg…"

Meg looked at him with a sullen face for a moment before holding him. "Forgiven."

Smiling, he looked back at Raoul. "If that is what you wished to confront me for, do your worst." He widened his eyes on the last word, as if challenging Raoul.

Raoul bit his lip in irritation. "Listen, though that is relevant, it is not what I came for either." He felt his shoulders shake as he turned his head down. "It's… I…" He tried to hold back a cry, only to break it into pieces that increased its' length.

"Raoul?" Madame Giry reached for him.

"Christine is dead." Raoul looked back up with tears in his eyes and quivering lips. "And I cannot take care of my…" He turned around, shuddering, gripping his wrist tightly. "I mean… Your daughter."


	2. An Explaination

Sitting in the office of his once deadly enemy was awkward to say the least. It was very expensive looking, dark cherry wood everywhere, red velvet chairs, and fresh leather books with gold imprints on high shelves. The two men sat across from each other, separated only by an office desk. Meg had left to get a carriage ready so they all could immediately leave when needed and Madame Giry stood in the corner to oversee.

"I suppose… I should start at the beginning." Raoul spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact with him. "Well, at least my beginning… After everything in the opera, Christine and I got married… A few months after we found out she was with child… Of course I was overjoyed." He nervously clapped his hands together. "When Sorelli was born, she looked like her mother… But not me."

Madame Giry stepped closer to glare at her son-in-law, but he ignored her.

"I sort of played it off… 'She looks like grandpa Gustave'." Raoul laughed. "We were happy, even if Christine sometimes did… Think of you, she got into painting and made your picture perfectly. She even let Sorelli see… So she wouldn't be afraid of you... Mr. Y?"

"Erik." He spoke. "My real name is Erik."

"… Erik." Raoul stated with a nod, it felt odd to know he had a real name. "So she wouldn't fear you… I didn't mind much, I assumed it helped her get over the fear…" Raoul scratched the back of his neck. "Then one day… Sorelli was six. For her birthday, her mother decided to teach her how to use the violin." Raoul smiled warmly. "She was a natural at it. As she played a simple tune, she sang…" Raoul looked up dreamily, "What a lovely voice, haunting almost, like her mother's… And someone else." He looked at Erik. "It was in that moment… I knew, in the song and music, she looked like someone else…"

Erik turned his gaze down and looked at a picture on his desk, but said nothing.

"Then my friends asked me to play poker, I said yes. Then I had some scotch… Then some gin… Then some whisky… Then I don't remember what happened." Raoul laughed slightly and wiped his face, though nothing was on it. "When I woke up, Christine yelled at me for losing $41054 in a drunken poker game… Then it started getting worse."

For once, Erik looked upon his formal rival pitifully. "So you started… Because of me?" Erik would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. "

"I know, I'm awful right?" Raoul laughed hard, but tears began to form. "After a couple more years of getting thrown out of bars, having the debt collectors come after me, squandering my inheritance after my parents died, selling everything and living in a run-down apartment to keep me from being arrested and getting disowned by all the nobility in France, I finally told Christine what disturbed me… She admitted it, crying…" Raoul scoffed. "Stupid fool."

With the sound of a pushed back chair and metal against leather, Raoul found himself at the knifepoint of his masked archenemies. "Repeat what you said."

"Not in that way!" Raoul screamed hitting his fist on the table. "She was a fool for thinking everything was her fault!" He breathed heavily, then quickly withdrawing back and curling up. "When it was mine. And I admitted it." He began to become lax. "And then things… Seemed to get better. I managed to quit the gambling, I limited myself to going out for a few drinks once a week, even got a new job. Christine and Sorelli still had the violin, and Christine even coached her. They started to sing at public shows and got money from that. We even told her, who her real father was."

Erik settled down back into his chair and put the knife back into his sheath. "How did she react?"

"She was surprised, but, due to some morbid curiosity… Perhaps inherited."

Madame Giry barely stifled her chuckle.

"She wanted to meet you one day, I told her she could. We knew where you were, a place called Phantasma is sort of hard to miss the hint. Things finally looked up." Raoul held his wrist and turned his gaze upward dreamily. He seemed lost for a moment before the light in his eyes died and he returned to reality. "Then Christine got sick."

Erik once again softened his eyes and looked away. "What sort of sickness?"

Raoul shook slightly. "Influenza. It was awful. Sorelli and I… We tried to make ends meet, paying for Christine's medication. But it wasn't enough. With winter, it became worse. Sorelli ran to pawn off her grandfather's violin to get her medication while I tried to beg people on the street for anything they could spare, after thirty minutes, I managed to get her some hot soup and fed it to her, I managed to keep her hanging on until Sorelli got the medicine." Raoul paused, he looked down he became pale and shaky. "Before she even opened the bottle, Christine called out to us… 'I love you both'… She died in my arms."

Erik clenched his fists, but managed to contain himself. "What happened then?"

"After cremating Christine, since we couldn't afford a crypt, and managing to get the violin back, I fell off the wagon like an idiot." Raoul admitted slamming his loose change on the table. "Everything Sorelli brought home I gambled and drunk away, but she stayed with me… After her sixteenth birthday, I won two transcontinental tickets to New York from some strange Italian man. I thought of selling them… Then I remembered you. As silly as it sounds, even now you have a wife, I knew you couldn't refuse to take care of her." Raoul immediately took out several pieces of crumpled paper from his coat pocket and laid them out as neatly as he could for Erik.

Erik looked over each of them; which included a birth certificate, adoption papers with Raoul's signature and official passports and immigration papers for Sorelli. "You want me to take her? Just like that?"

"Since the moment I first heard her sing I knew she was yours, she was never mine to begin with. I was never meant to be a father." Raoul slid off his chair and got on his knees before clasping his hands together. "Please. You have to, she deserves better than this worthless, drunken shadow of a 'Vicomte', and she deserves someone that can give her everything." He peered his eyes up. "I know that you have moved on, but if you're like Christine, then you still have a part of that love in you. Use that and take care of her. Please… Please…" He began to break down into a sobbing, slobbery mess.

"Stop that, you look ridiculous." Erik stated.

Raoul could hear metal scraping on paper, looking back up, he had signed every single thing that needed signing.

"Madame Giry, if you may please ask my lawyer to meet me in my home tonight, I have to organize things."

"Yes sir."

Raoul jumped up and kept himself from hugging him. "Thank you! I'll go get her, she'll be glad to meet you!" He opened the door and sprinted out of the room.


	3. The Girl In The Red Scarf

A dark haired girl dressed in a plain black smock, black cloak, black hat with veil and a worn red scarf sat on the beach, clutching a patched up red and pink floral-patterned carpetbag on her lap against her chest with her right arm and a chipped mahogany violin case slung under her left arm. Shivering slightly as the salty sea breeze caressed her face and occasionally carry some ocean mist that would dampen her.

To keep herself dry, she turned to the crowd of people leaving, both on the pier and on the beach, trying to pick out her father as well as just to observe them. She was amazed at the variety of people there were; elderly nobles, young nouveau riche, families of three to thirteen and bellowing beggars. As they left, the freaks bid them a fine farewell, entertaining them on the way out. She smiled, admiring all the tricks and talent they presented, wishing she could get a better look but her father told her to wait on the beach.

Turning away from the crowd, she let her arm fall from her violin case to draw circles in the damp sand. She hummed a tune, while closing her eyes to relax. She desperately wanted to sleep, but she couldn't. Tilting her head upward, she opened her eyes to stare at the cloudy sky and the dimming light to keep herself awake.

"Do you play?"

Rolling her head to the side, she saw a small child, a boy no more than eight, blond wearing a gold "comedy" theatre mask that they sold at the stands. When he noticed her looking, he gently tapped the violin case.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know." The boy nodded and sat across from her. "Hi, I'm Jules, what's your name?"

"Sorelli…" she nodded. "Um, where are your parents?"

"Working." He pointed at her violin again. "Can you play for me?"

Sorelli looked at the child with narrowed eyes. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"… Yes and no."

"What does that mean?"

"They know I'm in Phantasma." Jules stood up. "But not," he hopped. "Here, specifically."

Sorelli stared at him and blinked a few times. "You should go to your parents."

He smiled and hopped again. "I will if you play for me."

Sorelli rolled her eyes and groaned. "Fine…"

Setting down her carpet bag, she opened her mahogany case. While it still did cradle her violin perfectly, the red velvet was torn and the stuffing showing. She picked up her violin and placed the bottom of it in the crook of her neck with her left hand, she used her right thumb and pointer finger to test each string individually while holding the bow in the other three. After adjusting the knobs to her desired tightness. She quickly grazed her bow over the strings to test the sound and found it was satisfactory.

Jules waited patiently for her and sat down while crossing his legs. When she finished preparing, he stood up in full attention. Sorelli thought of a song to play, then settled on Ave Maria. She began to play slowly, trying to recall the notes before Jules stood up.

"You're not letting the music guide you."

She looked at him oddly. "What?"

"You're too focused on remembering, guiding the music, when it should guide you." Jules stated. "As it play, just let one note come right after the other, feel it, don't do it."

"…"

"That's what my father does."

Sorelli sighed, but decided to take the young child's instruction to heart anyway. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feeling of her bow. As she stroked each note, she didn't try to remember the next, she just let herself stroke the note into music. As she continued, the notes began to melt into a perfect melody. When she found a good place to stop, she let the last note trail off softly.

Jules clapped and hopped, waving his arms widely. "Brava! Brava! Bravissima!"

Sorelli laughed and gave an exaggerated bow. "Thank you, thank you…" she reached for her carpet bag. "You have been a wonderful audience." When she got a handful of air, her eyes immediately darted down. Letting out a shriek, she turned all around. It was gone.

"NO!" She cried out, bursting into tears. "It's gone!"

Jules jumped in shock but immediately ran to her. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"It's gone!" She repeated, tears streaking down her cheeks. "That bag… My mother's…" She clutched her chest and continued to sob.

Jules gently grabbed her arms. "It was red and pink, with flowers and patches right?"

Unable to talk, Sorelli nodded crying. Jules immediately jumped onto the wooden pier and pulled himself up.

"Everyone!" He called calmly.

Suddenly all the freaks dropped what they were doing (save the sword swallower who needed to remove it safely) and turned to Jules.

"My friend Sorelli's carpetbag has been stolen! Spread the word and look for a red and pink carpetbag, with a floral print and some patches! Don't let them get out of the gate!"

"Yes young master!"

Each and every freak went running with their eyes turned down, they spread the word to other freaks and they went running as well. Sorelli stood their dumbfounded as they all began to run to the gate, forming one giant wall of oddities that extended onto the beach and into the ocean on both sides. No one would cross without having their bag checked.

"Master! We've got him!" some freaks exclaimed on the beach, one with abnormally tall legs holding the carpet bag and another heavily built one holding the gruff, tattered purse-snatcher.

"Let me go you freaks of nature!" He grumbled, struggling in their grip.

Sorelli ran and grabbed her carpetbag. "Thank you so much!" She pulled it close to her chest and hugged it.

Jules marched up to the strongman, who dangled the thief at eye level upside-down. Jules knocked his knuckles twice between his eyes and put his hands on his hips.

"Don't you know stealing is illegal mister? I'm afraid to say I banish you from Phantasma!"

"Don't you know it's rude to talk back at adults, you little brat!" he swung at the boy, but the strongman pulled him back enough so Jules wouldn't be hit, but he did knock off his mask.

"And you're coming with us, to the police." The strongman dragged him away.

Sorelli went to Jules's side. "Are you hurt?"

Jules looked at her, covering the left side of his face. "I'm fine."

"Did he hit you there?" Sorelli gently touched his hands. "Is it bruised or bleeding?"

Jules looked down. "No… I just don't want to show you." He picked up his mask and rubbed it against his chest. "I'm… I'm like those guys." He pointed to the freaks. "But… Worse to other people."

Sorelli looked up at him. "Jules…" She put her arm around him. "I have to go back, but how about I tell you a secret?"

Jules put on his mask. "Sure!"

"My dad was one too, a freak I guess." Sorelli spoke smiling. "He had a deformed face, on his left side. He also didn't have much hair. I've never met him, but I have seen his picture. I got so used to how he looked, it never bothered me anymore."

Jules stopped in his tracks.

Sorelli turned to him. "Jules?"

"… How old are you?"

"Sixteen why?"

"Oh good, that means my dad wasn't married to my mom and someone else at the same time."

Sorelli turned to him. "Wait, what?"

"My parent's tenth anniversary is this December."

Sorelli grabbed his shoulders and got down to his height. "Jules…" She began firmly. "Are you saying you think we have the same father?"

"I think so…" Jules trailed off. "Well, have a look and see if I look like him!" He chirped happily taking off his mask.


	4. Let's Go Home

Sorelli stepped back, though the shock was not due to fear. Though it was obviously not as harsh or hideous as her father's, his brain wasn't showing for a start, but the hollowed cheek, irritated skin, swollen half lip, balding side with wiry, pale hairs confirmed they were half-siblings.

"You are my brother..."

Sorelli did not even have time to get over the shock because she heard her other father, calling her name.

"Father…" She breathed. "You won't believe what just happened-"

"You can tell me later, you have to meet your real father now, at his building."

"This is my brother!"

Raoul paused and looked at Jules. Like Sorelli, his eyes widened in shock more than horror. Jules simply smiled and waved.

"Hi."

"… Um, you come too?"

Jules put his mask back on and grabbed Sorelli's hand. Raoul took Sorelli's violin case and Sorelli still clasped the carpetbag tightly in her other hand.

"We're meeting Meg in the front, she'll have a carriage for us… And you."

"I hope it's the one with the glass horse!"

Raoul and Sorelli exchanged confused glances.

Jules noticed it and laughed. "You'll see."

As they exited the dark amusement park, they were the last to leave. As soon as they walked through the gates they shut behind them and locked loudly. In front of the park stood Meg, now in a warmer blue velvet dress lined with black fur. Jules immediately jumped up and hugged his mother, who then saw Sorelli and smiled.

"So you're Christine and his daughter…" She held out her hand to her. "It's alright, it happened before Erik and I were in a relationship. I feel no ill to you." Meg gently stroked the side of her face and even traced along her scarf. "My you look so much like her… I wish I could have seen her again…" Meg wiped away a few tears before regaining her composure.

Sorelli nodded. "Thank you… She talked a lot about you too. She missed you…"

Meg smiled warmly. "I'm glad it was mutual…"

"So it's really true mama, I have a big sister?" Jules chirped as he pulled on Meg's arm.

"Yes Jules." Meg laughed as she picked him up. "And she'll be staying with us soon."

His eyes and smile grew. "Really?"

"Really!"

Everything was halted when the sound of a steam motor rang out. Sorelli looked to the street and was shocked as a large dark carriage with golden gilding and maroon curtains was being pulled by a crystalline horse with steam being blown out of its' nostrils. It was being piloted by a dark skinned young man with pale, almost white, spots all over his face, dressed in a footman's outfit. He stopped the contraption before the family and hopped off before opening the door.

"Mistress Meg, Master Jules." His gaze turned to Raoul and Sorelli. "Vicomte, Vicomtess." He pinched the rim of his top hat and bowed.

Sorelli and Raoul bowed back. Meg sat Jules down in a smaller seat built to his size before sitting down beside him. Sorelli and Raoul followed and sat next to each other while sitting across. The carriage was lined with velvet and had fleur-de-lis crown molds all around and very gracious legroom. The young man took Raoul and Sorelli's luggage as well as Sorelli's violin case, to tie down on the top. He was about to take Sorelli's carpetbag before she stopped him.

"Sorry, there's something very fragile and valuable in here, I need to keep it close." She stated quietly.

The young man nodded before closing and securing the door and taking the helm once more.

"Thank you Stewart." Meg said.

"Of course Mistress." Stewart nodded.

Soon they began to trudge along the paved streets of New York, accompanied by various other automobiles who seemed to freely move aside for them. Sorelli peeked out the curtains and looked out at the city in wonder. What a place it was to her, so many cars unlike France, and many very tall buildings.

"So those are skyscrapers…" Sorelli murmured aloud.

"Mm-hm!" Jules perked suddenly. "And there are lots going to be built later on too!"

They continued to drive into the city, but not straying more than three streets away from the bay. Sorelli turned back to witness the sun setting as the lights on Coney began to dim down. Sighing softly, she clutched her carpetbag close to her chest again, then looked at her father with glossy eyes.

"She would want you to have it, not me…" Raoul spoke softly.

Sorelli nodded slowly in response. Jules gently tugged on her skirt and pointed out of his window.

"That's where we live!" Jules announced, pointing at a tall, black skyscraper with small rectangle windows and a bell shaped, gothic style "crown" at the top. "Me, mama, papa and all the Freaks too!"

Sorelli looked at him. "The Freaks?"

"Yup." Jules nodded. "While my papa doesn't pay them as much as he wish he could, he does house them without any rent."

"And boy is it a good trade-off!" Stewart added from the driver's seat.

Sorelli tilted her head at him, then looked to Meg. "Um… I'm guessing Coney isn't the only way he makes money?"

Meg laughed, shaking her head. "Oh no, definitely not. He also has a lot of patents in the automobile industry, the amusement park industry, the automata industry, he sells music, produces shows…" She looked up and strained her eyes. "Um… A fair few stocks."

Raoul rolled his eyes in envy. "A lot of things for just sixteen years…"

"Well, you see, after Erik managed to buy his first side show we did manage to make some… 'Friends' with good connections." Meg suddenly trailed off. "Um, I really don't want to go into details though…"

Soon Stewart pulled into the parking lot besides the building, which appeared significantly taller at the base. Looking up, the roof of the building began to blend into the dark night sky, with lit windows appearing to just float unsupported.

Stewart opened the door for them and bowed slightly, pinching the rim of his hat again. Jules jumped out, followed by Meg, Sorelli and Raoul. After shutting the doors, several other well-dressed freaks took the luggage and brought them inside as a sign reading "Mister Y Incorporated" greeted them.

The opening of the clean glass doors caused a warm gust of wind to flow around them as they entered the reception area. The floors were dark marble with patterns of abstract white wisps inlaid here and there, the walls were wallpapered dark grey with a gothic black lace pattern all around accompanied by iron light fixtures that resembled candles and paintings of Coney attractions, as well as dark velvet couches and short mahogany tables and six desks of dark mahogany were six freaks sat writing in books with black rotary telephones on the desk.

"Quite a place, huh Sorelli?" Raoul spoke as he looked around.

"Yes…" She breathed.

Someone cleared their throat and Raoul turned to see Madame Giry.

"So, this is Sorelli de Chagny?" She asked.

Sorelli nodded and bowed. "Yes Madame, mother and father told me about you."

"Hi grandma!" Jules waved.

Madame Giry scrutinized Sorelli carefully, feeling the weight of an elder's stare caused Sorelli to shake a bit. She tightened her grip on her carpet bag before nodding.

"Jules, come, you should head back up, it's time for your bath before dinner." Madame Giry spoke.

"But grandmother, I want to stay with my sister!" Jules protested pouting.

"Jules…" Madame Giry sighed holding out her long willowy hand.

He sighed and drooped his shoulders. "Ok grandma…"

She tapped her stick hard.

"I mean, yes grandmother…"

Jules took her hand and walked with her to the elevator, but not before turning to Sorelli and waving to her.

"Erik should be in his study, I'll take you there." Meg spoke putting her hand on Sorelli's shoulder.


	5. Father

The elevator was like the rest of the building, a luxury. It had mirrors all around gilded in gold patterns and the floor was polished brass. A stout dwarf woman who on a stool commanded the elevator, simply watching to see which elevator went where, and went to that floor and took them to the requested floor. However she ignored all those calls and went straight up to the penthouse on the 50th floor ("Though technically there are 52 floors." Said the dwarf).

As the elevator began to make its' ascent Sorelli's head began to feel light as a feather, her chest tightened, allowing only a mouthful's worth of air to go in and out at a time. She gripped her carpet bag tightly, trying to relieve pressure in her body, but it didn't work. Raoul noticed this and gently rested his hand on her shoulder.

"It will be fine, dear." He spoke softly.

Sorelli nodded but was unable to speak for fear of losing her breath.

With a stop and a ding, they arrived at the top floor. The brass doors opened to reveal a lavishly decorated sitting room with mahogany floors with matching furniture, paneled walls with lace swinging to connect to the next, embroidered purple rugs, velvet purple couches, and gothic black lamp fixtures with white and stained purple glass shades. Also in the room were stairs that stopped at a large door with golden stained glass. The east windows opened to reveal a view of the city and Phantasma in the distance.

Sorelli, Meg and Raoul stepped out with their belongings before the dwarf descended the elevator.

"Erik?" Meg called out walking forward. "We're home, are you still in the office?"

"Yes." A smooth voice that seemed to come from nowhere in particular replied.

Sorelli swallowed hard and clung to her bag.

"Come in." He remarked as a section of a panel slid open.

Meg walked forward, not looking scared or phased at all. Sorelli however, silently urged Raoul to walk in first. He nodded, taking her hand and walked forward first. It looked just like the outside, with the addition of a crammed bookcase, but it had no windows and was dimly lit by oil lamps. A tall shadowed figure sat turned away at a desk. Meg sighed audibly before walking to the bookcase and pulling a small one. With a loud grinding noise, light fixtures descended from the ceiling and turned on, brightening the room completely.

"You are not having a finance meeting, you are meeting your child." Meg chastised firmly.

Raoul placed his hand on her shoulder, which Sorelli responded by gripping it tightly.

"Forgive me, I was deep in thought." He stood, revealing his true, statuesque height. His black hair shined, but was disturbed by an indent, no doubt the strap from his mask. He turned quickly to face Sorelli.

He was exactly as her mother described him, but no less frightful for her. Soon the storm of emotions began to thunder; of fear, of confusion, perhaps even hatred. She had lost her words once more.

But Erik felt differently. He looked upon this girl; his child. She looked like Christine, yes, her ears, lips, chin and brown eyes were that of her mother's. But her head shape, hands, nose and pale skin tone was that of her father's.

He bit his lip and approached her, his body shaking terribly. He felt a tempest of emotions he couldn't possibly name rage within him. With one long pale hand, he reached out to stoke her cheek. She pulled away quickly with a slight whimper.

"Sorelli… Forgive me…" he breathed deeply in an attempt to calm himself. "My name is Erik… I'm your father."

Sorelli turned away from him, tightening her fists on her skirt. "I… I know…"

Erik looked down, a sort of heavy hollowness forming in his chest. "I know you're afraid… Perhaps even hate me… But, I promise…" He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "I will take care of you…"

Sorelli's eyes turned to him, followed by her head. Her gaze met his and she reached out. Lightly grasping the side of his mask, she gently pulled it off his face. There was the face. The distorted broken mess of what was somehow human. The face that instilled terror on hundreds and spread horror to thousands. The face her mother kissed and loved in a part of her heart.

"… I know you will… Thank you, father…" Sorelli managed a small smile before gently brushing her fingers against his hollow cheek.

He smiled back at her, lessening the impact of his horrid face. He cupped her hand and held it tightly. "Now… We have many things to discuss."

"Wait, before we do…" Sorelli reached into her carpet bag and pulled out a piece of paper. "This… This is for you."

When Erik took the paper, he realized it was a worn envelop, torn here and there with a red wax seal that was scratched. On the back, in shaky cursive, was only one name:

 _Erik_

"A letter… From mother… She knew it would come to this."

Erik felt his hand grow weak as he held it. He opened it at a painstaking pace with the gentleness of a father tending his newborn, obviously not wanting to damage it in some way. When he finally opened it, he slid out the crumpled piece of tan paper folded hastily in three before opening it.

 _Erik,_

 _If you're reading this, then I have perished and Sorelli is to be with you._

 _I will not lie, I still do regret what happened that night, beneath a moonless sky. But I shall never regret nor hate the fact Sorelli is yours. She is a musician like you, with a voice like mine. She may be quiet and withdrawn at times, but she has a passion within her about music. She is the light of my world, I love her so much._

 _However, before you take fully charge of her. You should know one thing; She may know you were my angel of music, that you kidnapped me and tried to kill Raoul, but she doesn't know you were a killer. Raoul is also aware of this, he shall not tell either. Unless you have utter confidence in her, I beg you not to tell. I do not want her to despise you for it… Nor I or Raoul from keeping it from her._

 _We chose not to tell her because we didn't want her to hate you, nor did we want to scare her. But I have confidence you have changed._

 _One thing we both know Erik, is that, no matter how much time has passed or how much we have moved on, part of our souls will always love one another. I am pleading you, since Raoul cannot take care of Sorelli anymore, with that piece of love you have for me, take care of her and love her, that's all I ask of you._

 _Love, Christine_

As Erik gazed down at the last line he saw too dark circles begin to grow on the paper, followed by another. He felt the tears begin to fall from his eyes as he set the paper down and wiped his tears. Sorelli took his hand and gently tightened her fingers around it.

"It's ok…" she smiled sweetly.


	6. Ellie?

As her fathers and Meg spoke for the past good hour, Sorelli opted to stay in the waiting room outside, out of the way and silent though she was the topic of said discussion. She was used to it all her life and had countless techniques to keep herself amused. During long, awkward silences between family she would visualize about her mother's performances on Opera Populaire's stage, during a parent's absence she would vividly recount her visits to Paris' Grand Ferris Wheel when her life was stable, or drowning out an argument by flying into her imagination.

This time, however, her mind conjured countless detailed events of what could happen in the future. Phantasma's splendor, its' patterns of lights like strings of stars dancing around her, Manhattan's life sweeping around her like a whirlwind of noise but one thing she could not picture clearly was her new family. Try as she could, the only person she could picture bonding with, was Jules. Though they accepted her, what would happen with her father? His wife?

She felt hollowness begin to slowly consume her, almost lost in it. A warm hand on her shoulder pulled her back to life.

"Ellie?"

She looked up to see Jules, he had changed into a black felt button-up shirt with a white collar pulled out, black shorts and black slippers. His hair was visibly damp and he wore no mask, showing his deformity, which was a brighter red, most likely due to it being irritated by either soap or rubbing.

She leaned back and widened her eyes. "I'm sorry what did you say?"

"Ellie." Jules resounded with a grin before dropping himself to the seat beside her. "Siblings always have nicknames, so I gave one to you!"

She offered a small smile in return. "I guess that is common, Ellie sounds good." She then turned her eyes downward as she attempted to shorten his name. "Um… How about Jule?"

He rolled his eyes to turn his gaze away. "Sure…"

Sorelli sighed and drooped her shoulders. "Sorry, it's..."

"It's ok, 'Jules' is already short." He put his hands behind him, leaned on them and kicked his heels against the couch with a smile. "But I can still call you Ellie right?"

"Of course."

Jules let out a small giggle before his eyebrows rose and mouth drop, he swirled his head around, stopping at every door. "Are they still in the office?"

"Yes." Sorelli replied. "But your lawyer, Mr. Abbott, joined them a little while ago."

Jules turned to her and wiggled his eyebrows. "Wanna listen in? Grandma's resting back in her room."

"What?"

Jules slid off the couch and ran to the purple drapes that were controlled by a thick, black rope. He grabbed onto the rope and leaned back with it, with a click it began to move. Looking upward, the celling was several swirls all interconnected, but the ringlet that held the curtain began to move inside them, following it like trains on a track. With five more clicks he stopped, then pulled on it. A slight sound of grinding metal was heard before a panel slid open that was right next to the office.

Sorelli's jaw dropped when he finished. She gawked at him as if his deformity migrated to his other side.

"What? Didn't you have secret passages at your house?"

"… No."

He blinked before plainly stating: "Oh, well we do."

Jules quietly tip-toed into the side passage, pausing only to curl his finger towards himself while looking at Sorelli. Shaking off the initial awkwardness, she sighed and turned away.

"You go ahead, I'm fine…"

Jules stepped out with furrowed brows and a pouting lip. "Why not?"

Sorelli shook her head. "Because I don't like to…"

Jules scampered toward her and gently tugged her hand. "Come on Ellie, don't you want to find out what's going to happen to you?"

"No…" She gently brushed his hand away before walking to the wide window and hugging herself.

Jules frowned and inched forward. "Ellie? Did I hurt your feelings?"

"No, not at all," She turned to him, one hand tucked into the other. "I'd rather just, do whatever they ask. They know what's best after all, what's the point of getting worked up over something you can't change?"

Jules' eyes flicked downward, her tone was like an echo, this was something she had said a lot before. He swirled back around to the passage. "Alright Ellie, whatever you say…"

He tip-toed back into it and pressed a switch which closed the passage behind him and sent the rope clicking back into place. The inner corridors were made specially by Erik so he could have immediate access to every room in his penthouse and office, also placing hidden vents and specially made phones so he could hear in different parts of the house. Jules simply turned to the office vent, though three feet above him, shut his eyes so he could concentrate on it and pointed his ear to it.

"Just to be clear you are going to be completely liable for this child." Erik's lawyer, Mr. Abbott, a white haired man with a somewhat conical head, informed sullenly.

"I understand." Erik spoke, his voice slightly gravelly than usual.

"And just to be clear, should anything happen to you." The sound of fluttering paper was heard. "Meg shall receive half your fortune, as well as half your assets, with the other half of both split equally among your offspring?"

"Yes."

"And you Mrs. Y, should anything happen to you, forfeit your shares and split equally among your biological son, Jules, and your adoptive daughter, Sorelli?"

"Yes."

He cleared his throat. "Very well, the changes have been made and I shall return with an official court date in which to make official, Miss Sorelli's change of guardianship."

"And where shall I go before the Sanatorium?" Raoul asked.

"You're staying with Sorelli until she's officially adopted." Erik responded with a slightly uneven voice.

"But what if the Vicomte is cured?" Mr. Abbott inquired.

Raoul let out a noise that vaguely a chuckle or a scoff. "I'm afraid I don't have as much faith in myself as I would like, she will likely be a woman when I'm done…"

Jules felt a couple questions begin to form in his mind. Why was the inheritance a concern? What was a Sanatorium? Was Sorelli's other father sick? The pause in conversation indicated that Jules exit, pressing the switch once more he skittered out and leaped stomach first onto the couch before turning lax. Sorelli still stood at the window, staring at the endless lights of the city, turning only to see Jules but wordlessly looking back.

Mr. Abbott emerged and politely nodded to both Jules and Sorelli before going to the elevator. Erik and Meg walked out together, arms locked loosely, Erik's face was plain with small curves of worry, Meg smiling but her eyes were sunken slightly. Raoul followed, his stride weighted down.

Meg released her arm from Erik's to sit beside her son. "Are you alright Jules?" She asked, gently moving him so his head could rest on her lap.

"Yes mama, just hungry." He mumbled softly.

Raoul sauntered over to Sorelli and gently rested his hand in hers. He let out a few heavy breaths, like he was trying to relieve his emotion.

"We're nearly there, just need a judge to officiate it, then you'll stay with them and I'll head to the Sanitarium, he's…. Kindly paying."

Sorelli let out a breath and nodded.

"You'll be able to visit me."

"That's good…"

He looked down at her and then put his arm around her, pulling her into a hug. "Everything will be fine." He planted a kiss on her head.

Erik walked to them quietly. "There's an empty suite bellow us, you can stay there until I have your room built, I've called someone to take your things."

Sorelli's eyes locked onto her carpet bag. "I can't believe I've forgotten…" She mumbled in a trembling voice as she walked to it.

She dropped to her knees without hesitation, plied apart the opening and wrapped her arms around something. It appeared to be a small, white ceramic vase, plain painted red flowers, a tightly screwed on lid and a small oval picture of Christine in its' center. It took Erik only a glance to realize what it was. Meg bit her lip and gently coaxed Jules to wait for them in the dining room, which he obliged.

"I didn't want to leave her alone in Paris, at least grandpa has grandma… We couldn't afford to bury her there." Sorelli pressed it against herself and smiled, barely managing to hold back tears.

Erik looked down and approached her with an extending arm. He gently grazed his fingers among the resting place of his former beloved. Though he felt tears form, he was able to smile.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you… But thank you for teaching me… What real love meant…" He looked to Meg. "Thank you for letting me return the favor."


	7. Thoughts of Change

"Is that really all you have?" Jules questioned as he watched Sorelli unpack her scant clothes.

Meg shoot him a quick glare before lightly slapping his wrist. "Jules!"

"What?" He whined.

Sorelli offered a small smile. "It's fine Jules, my father…" She shot a glance at Raoul to confirm which she was talking about. "Sort of came from a rougher time…"

"It's alright, we have seamstresses here, we can get you an all new wardrobe." Meg chimed as she gently patted Sorelli's back.

She turned to Meg with raised brows and a dropped lip. "You have on call seamstresses?"

Meg rolled her eyes in the other direction before speaking. "We make a lot of costumes."

When the initial shock wore off, Sorelli smiled softly and nodded. "Thank you… You don't have to…"

"Erik would want us to."

Raoul remained silent as simply placed his chest in a closet, without taking anything out. Sorelli turned and noticed before meeting his gaze for a moment.

"I'm not staying long anyway…" He stated, shutting the doors.

Sorelli's eyes downcast before nodding. "You have a point…"

In an attempt to break the awkwardness, Meg stepped closer. "Dinner is still being prepared, but chef hasn't started desert yet. Any requests?"

Sorelli shook her head but Raoul looked at her. "Vanilla, vanilla macarons."

Meg smiled and nodded. "Vanilla macarons it is." As she went to the telephone, Sorelli turned to Raoul with a sullen expression.

"If you're going to live with them, they should know your favorite food." He spoke.

Jules hopped and clung to Sorelli's arm. "My favorite food is fairy floss!"

"That's not a food, Jules, it's a sweet and it doesn't even count as a desert." Meg informed as she hung up the phone.

Jules narrowed his expression and puffed out his cheeks with a light whine, making Sorelli giggle into her hand.

"You look like a balloon." She mused quietly.

Jules released the air with a hiss similar to steam before dramatically throwing his head up, puffing his chest out and strutting out of the room. Meg resounded Sorelli's laughter as she went after him.

"Dinner will be done in fifteen minutes, just head to the penthouse and go straight through the door in the waiting room." Meg stated as she followed her son.

Sorelli grinned before nodding. After they both left the room Raoul looked at her.

"Quite the characters they are." He remarked as he walked to the washroom.

"Yes…" Sorelli mumbled before going to her closet, to pull out her best clothes; a white frilly blouse and a plain brown skirt, then going behind a screen to change. She hung up her mourning hat and veil as well as her mother's red felt scarf that started wearing down in the middle, her black dress she folded and put into a laundry basket. She turned to the gold plated long mirror to stare at herself, wearing but simple cotton bloomers, being unable to afford stockings, as well as a stretched corset that could barely tighten around her undernourished body. While not living in dire conditions for most of her life as lower-class, she still showed to be sickly.

She compared what she looked like to Meg and Jules, who have lived their lives in her blood father's luxury. Meg's thick golden curls, nimble body and clear complexion showed she surely was a pinnacle of high society. Even with Jules's deformity, he was energetic with a robust voice and a sort of eloquent childishness. Sorelli stared at her face to try and picture herself adored with cosmetics; her cheeks in a pink rogue with scarlet lips and painted eyelids, her hair done in curls before being put up in a gold encircled bun, around her neck a thick golden chain with diamonds glimmering like raindrops, and finally a long, extravagant dress of red, made of delicate Chinese silk adored with stitches of gold. She shook the illusion out of her head in shame then sighed, even if she technically came from that world, though being forcibly pushed out, believing she could never truly fit in.

She slid her blouse over her, pulled up and tightened her skirt before stepping out. Raoul was wiping his face and hair with a thick towel before looking at her.

"Your turn…" He murmured softly as he folded his towel and hung it onto the bedframe.

Sorelli nodded and began to walk to the bathroom but paused. "Father… Since I have time before dinner, may I go exploring?"

Raoul turned a quick glance at her. "I'm sure he'll be fine with that… As am I."

She turned her gaze down before nodding. After she washed her hands and splashed her face, Sorelli walked out of the door and shut it behind her. Taking a deep sigh, she smoothed out her skirt before walking the halls, which kept with the gothic interior but was colored red. There were other apartments around her, presumably of the same size and richness of the current she stayed in, where she presumed other freaks stayed, whether or not this meant they were of more importance or had higher "power", she didn't know. She started to walk to where the elevators were before a door swung open without warning.

She let out a little squeak before stopping herself and taking an immediate step back. A light footstep was heard as the door shut again. It was Stewart, the young driver of African descent with bone pale splotches all on his face, and now without his hat Sorelli could see it also extended to his curly hair. He was carrying a birdcage that had a fat pigeon sitting beside a small, sparrow, but they seemed to not be disturbed by each other, before turning to Sorelli, realizing that he almost hit her.

"Sorry Mademoiselle Vicomtess." He bowed slightly, his voice clearer, sounding more youthful. "I didn't know you were there."

"It's fine, you just startled me…" She stuttered, folding her arms and looking down. "And you don't need to call me Vicomtess, if anything you can just call me Mademoiselle Sorelli."

"Very well, Mademoiselle Sorelli." He turned his head to the side slightly and stepped forward. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Sorelli looked up sighing. "Yes, sorry, it's just… I just met my…" She stopped herself. "Mr. Y."

"He's really something isn't he?" Stewart smiled. "I owe him a lot, actually almost all of us do." Stewart placed the cage down, with the birds not even reacting. "A lot of us freaks, he picked up from the streets, like me, and gave us jobs, or came from other freak shows where they weren't treated well. Heck orphanages call us when there are orphans with deformities so couples can adopt them and bring them here."

Sorelli felt her eyes widen as she uncrossed her arms. "Really?"

"Yup, I ran away from my orphanage and he, Miss Meg and the other freaks took me in," He beamed brightly. "He taught me how to do magic, to build tricks and, well, to drive." He accompanied the statement with closed eyes and a laugh.

Sorelli felt her smile grow as he laughed. "That's amazing."

Stewart nodded firmly. "By the way, you didn't really mention why you were here, Mr. Y only said you'd be staying with us."

Silence overcame Sorelli as she turned to the side, and hugged herself, unsure whether or not to tell him.

Stewart noticed and looked away to pick his birdcage up. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I'll leave you be if you wish."

"No." She stated looking back at him. "I… I enjoyed talking to you and I hope we can be friends… I'm just not sure if Mr. Y will allow me to tell you…"

A slight smile graced Stewart's lips with understanding. "Very well, Mademoiselle, thank you for speaking with me." He bowed lightly before turning, as his birds squawked.

"Oh, and what are the birds for?"

"I'm going to practice a new routine for Mr. Y!"

While Sorelli was outside, Raoul shook his damp hair and sat on his bed, thinking about the fancy meal ahead. He recalled the fine foods he ate back at Chateau de Chagny, back when the years were happy with Christine. They would sit at a hand carved, one-of-a-kind, mahogany table with matching chairs, eating foie gras on China with silverware, as well as having champagne in a silver chalice. Raoul felt his mouth watered as he thought of a drink.

Because of the business of the days and lack of wealth, he didn't have time to crave it, but now, being in a magnificent building with a commercial kitchen, no doubt had some alcohol in it. He gauged on how long it took for the elevator to go down all the way, as the biggest kitchens were always on the first floor. He could slip in and out, grabbing some whisky or maybe even vodka, and have a couple sips before dinner. He practically jumped up to his wardrobe, but as he flung it open and saw the locked chest staring back at him. He slunk back onto the bed, staring back up at the ceiling.

"Whatever happened to me? What did I let happen to myself?"

"Father?" She called, the hair framing her face glimmering from dampness.

He turned to her, exhaling heavily. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes…" Raoul replied standing up, then offering his hand. "Let's go to dinner…"

Sorelli took his hand as they walked out into the hall, before going to one of the elevators. A freak with pale skin and black eyes dressed in overalls turned a single pupil towards the pair.

"Going up or down?" He asked.

"Up, Mr. Y invited us to dinner."

They made their quick ascent before walking back into the waiting room. When the elevator shut and they approached the stain glass door. Raoul glanced at his daughter and gestured at the door, still hesitant to dine with the man who tried to murder him. Sorelli stepped forward, unquestioning, and knocked.

"Come in." Erik's voice spoke.


End file.
